


Reaching for the Stars: an Anthology of Poetry by Megatron of Tarn

by Throw Back (Onamonapiedia)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2342435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onamonapiedia/pseuds/Throw%20Back
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For several stellar cycles my colleges and I have scoured databases corrupted my eons of war, decoded Decepticon archives, and risked life and limb to obtain copies from private collectors, all with the goal of bringing you this unedited and uncut collection of poems by none other than the dreaded Lord Megatron himself.  Learn the truth behind his bid for power, discover his passion for romance, and uncover the softer side of the most feared tyrant in the universe!  All inside Reaching for the Stars: an Anthology of Poetry by Megatron of Tarn!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seeker Poem 1 -  2541.562.25 (Pre-war)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this early piece Megatron, still a miner, has his first encounter with a pair of seekers flying over Kaon. Seekers remain a prominent theme in much of his later poetry, often referring to them as a symbol for freedom from the oppression he faces as a labor class mech.

High above the towers I glimpse the teasing dart of those polished wings,

Their unmarred plating glinting in the hazy light of the distant star.

A dazzling display above the decrepit pits of this city’s squalor.

 

Mocking.

 

Taunting.

 

Tormenting the trodden mechs around me,

Pungent of crude grease and mechanical lubricants,

With but fumes of the silvery-sweet perfumed world above.

 

I gape at them, mouth falling wide in want of that every illusive taste

Hovering at the edge of consciousness.

I stand in the celestial splendor they poor down on me,

And for a moment, I am blinded.

 

I reach, yearning to join them in their playful dance,

Aching to rise up from the decaying world to which through birth I am bonded,

To glide through the stale winds at my spark’s content,

To see where abandon shall take me.

 

To reach the promise of those stars falling around me in a hail of hope.

 

 

They continue to play at their game of catch and release,

Oblivious to the misery over which they fly.

Untouched by the filth of the ground,

Of waste strewn allies, of energon coated floors, of crumbling mines.

 

 

Then, they are gone,

Vanishing in the same breath in which they came.

Pursuing their sport to loftier hights.

 

They abandon us, as all else have.

Their curiosities for the meek and dreary stated,

They return to the world of light from which they came.

And yet in their absence I cannot help my stare lingering after them,

Dazzled by the their shinning imprint on my optics.

 

I am changed by their presence, altered by simple observance.

 

I am not content to spend my life picking away at sordid dirt,

Fasting my life to sustain those who look down on me.

The factories and mines were never my home,

But now I have glimpsed what there truly is to rise up towards.

 


	2. Turborats - 6215.624.49 (Pre-war)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though this poem is hard to date, with its open hostility towards the senate we place it sometime shortly before the first violent uprisings of Megatron’s rebellion. Prior to his fight with Sentinel Prime, but after his liaison with the mech we have come to refer to as the Enforcer. Peculiarly, this poem was titled by Megatron himself, a rare occurrence indeed.

The Senate are truborats, gorging themselves on the labor of the masses,

Rolling in filth as they gnaw at our pedes, lapping up the energon that spills from our wounds.

Yet they refuse to lay in the putrid waste and congealed oil of their pursuits.

Instead turning their optics away as we beg for their remorse,

Their noses turned up at our rancid forms which they themselves have sullied.

 

The functionalist claim it is their right. Their right to bite and tear at our mesh,

To take our lifeblood and livelihoods as they please.

They see no wrong in our suffering, so long as they may prosper.

To them our bodies and work are for nothing but their pleasure.

 

And in that same mind it is our right.

Our right to be bitten,

To be torn,

To suffer,

And to please.

 

But that is not the right of a mech. That is the right of a rat.

And when a turborat gnaws at your pede, do you let it be?

Claim it simply knows no better?

That it is in its nature to not know better?

 

No.

 

You kick at it and do whatever you must to remove it.

And if it comes back and bites at you again and again?

Well in most cases the rat winds up _dead_.

 

 

It is a pity we do not hold mechs to such standards.

 


End file.
